Haman's Son
by miloowen
Summary: Will Riker turns to Rabbi Lior Cardozo of stellar cartography to help him come to terms with his guilt over the path of destruction left by his father, Section 31 agent Kyle Riker. He begins lessons in Judaism, but the story of Esther and Haman in the Jewish holiday of Purim threatens to reignite his symptoms of PTSD. Follows chronologically The St Valentine's Day Massacre.


Haman's Son

1.

"You seem rather contemplative tonight," Jean-Luc said, looking up from his book.

I was supposed to be reading a report from engineering, but I wasn't, not really. I'd think I'd read the same sentence maybe twenty times. "I don't know that contemplative is the right word," I answered. "Perhaps _distracted_ would be a better one."

He put his book down, and stood up, stretching. "It's been a long day, and tomorrow will be even longer," he said. "Perhaps it might just be best to take a shower and turn in." I didn't answer, and he questioned, "Will? What is it?" He sat down beside me and took the padd from my hand, setting it down on the coffee table. "Something is bothering you," he observed. "Perhaps you had better tell me."

I sighed. "It's not really bothering me," I said. "I don't know how to explain it."

"Ah," he said. "And just how long is this inarticulation of yours supposed to last? You used to be very hard to shut up, before."

I glanced at him, surprised, and then I grinned. "Perhaps," I said, "you wished so hard for me to shut up that it came true, Jean-Luc. Now you have to deal with the consequences."

He laughed. "Indeed," he said, "then I must have gotten what I deserved." He took my hand.

"It's stupid," I said.

"One of your ten words," he responded. "And not my favourite one, either."

"You have a favourite of my ten words?" I asked. "I know it's not _mad_."

"No," he agreed, "although at least I have grown used to it. And it's not _difficult_, either."

"You're going to have to tell me, Jean-Luc," I said. "I'll die of curiosity, otherwise."

"I wonder how one accomplishes that," he said. Then he said, "Tell me what is bothering you, even if it is stupid. Then I may tell you my favourite of your words."

"Only may? There's not much incentive, there."

"Oh," he said, "I could provide you with a different kind of incentive, Mr Riker."

"You've twisted my arm, sir," I said. "But perhaps you ought to give me a sample of your incentive, before I make any commitment."

The sample of his incentive turned out to be a little more than just a sample, and I let him shower first. He came out in his robe and I said, "Jean-Luc, couldn't we get someone to enlarge the head? Surely there must be a way to reconfigure it, without destroying the ship's integrity."

"There are married quarters aboard, for the captain," he replied. "On Deck Eight, I believe. I was going to ask you if you wanted to change quarters, anyway."

"You like these quarters," I said.

"They're just rooms, Will. A larger head would be worth the move."

"I'll check them out," I said.

"Good."

I showered and put my pyjama bottoms on, and when I came out, he was already in bed. I climbed into bed next to him and lowered the lights.

"Come here," he said, and he pulled me into his arms. "You were going to tell me something, Will, before we got distracted." He kissed my hair.

"Before you distracted me, you mean," I said. "You have to tell me your favourite word. That was the deal."

"Agreed," he said.

"And you won't think it's stupid," I said.

"William."

"Oh, all right." I paused, trying to figure out what I wanted to say. "I've been talking to Lior Cardozo."

"Yes, I know," he said.

"You must have spies everywhere."

"Ha," he replied. "You are a very silly man."

"That," I said, "is one of the reasons why you love me."

"How true," he responded.

"Was your family religious in any way?" I asked.

"My grandmother – my father's mother," he replied, after a moment, "was indeed a member of the church. And we celebrated the traditional holidays, Christmas. Pâques –Easter…."

"Most everyone was either Russian Orthodox or native, if they were anything at all," I said. "The Shugaks were Russian Orthodox, so my mother might have been. Although her father was Norwegian, so I don't know."

"You never met your grandparents, did you?" he asked.

"I saw my grandfather all the time, Jean-Luc. I just never knew he was my grandfather."

"I still don't understand that," Jean-Luc said.

I shrugged. "He died a long time ago, so there's no way to find out why now," I said.

"You are still trying to make sense of what happened," Jean-Luc said. "Lt Commander Cardozo –Rabbi Cardozo – is helping you in that."

"Yeah." I was quiet. "I could have been like him. I had the same hole, the same emptiness. He filled his up with evil…."

"From what we have been able to piece together, Will," Jean-Luc said, holding me tightly, "no one ever did any harm to your father at all. He just was the way he was, and we will never know why. Whereas your father did a great deal of harm to you, yet you managed, even as a small child, to maintain empathy for other people. Please do not compare yourself to him again."

I sighed. "So you don't think there is some sort of Creator, the way Rabbi Cardozo does?"

"Like Q, you mean?" He looked at me.

"No, not like Q at all," I said. "I don't know, that's the problem. Lior somehow manages to retain a spiritual life and be an astrophysicist at the same time."

"I don't necessarily think those two are mutually exclusive, Will. But you still haven't told me why this is bothering you."

"It wouldn't bother you if I started taking lessons from Rabbi Cardozo?"

"Learning about his faith, you mean?" Jean-Luc smiled, and then he kissed my forehead. "Will. If Lior Cardozo is helping you come to terms with this, then I support him fully. And –" He looked at me, his eyes dark and serious. "If you have a need to begin some sort of spiritual life, I will fully support you, too. I love you, Will. I do hope you know that."

I could feel my anxiety sort of drifting a way. "I love you, too," I said. "It won't bother you, then, if I start attending his services?"

"Not at all," he replied. "And my favourite word of yours is cranky, because it's the only word you ever used that actually described what you were feeling."

I was quiet, and then I said, "And you say _I'm_ silly."

"Well, I prefer you silly to cranky," he said, laughing, "but at least I always understood what you meant when you said you were feeling _cranky_."

"Go to sleep, Jean-Luc," I said. "Before I become cranky."

He said in my ear, "Then I will kiss you all over, and your crankiness will disappear."

"Okay," I said, "but just remember you have alpha shift, and I don't."

"Mmmh," he answered, and neither one of us was very coherent after that.

I woke up in a cold sweat. Jean-Luc was instantly awake, and he said softly, "William. I am right beside you. What do you need?"

"I was in the woods," I said, "and I couldn't find you…." My face was wet, and I could feel I was shaking.

"Ah," he said. "I knew you were upset. Come here, _mon cher_."

I turned into him, and he wrapped his arms around me. "I'm sorry," I said miserably. "I don't know what's the matter with me."

"Are you crying?" he asked, and then he said, feeling my face, "Oh, Will." He held me tightly, rubbing my back and kissing my hair.

"I hate this," I said, "I'm supposed to be better; I'm not supposed to have nightmares any more…."

"I know," he said. "But everyone has nightmares, Will. Even I have them from time to time."

"You used to have them about the Borg," I said. "I would go by your quarters, and you were still awake."

"In the middle of the night, Will?" he asked. "You were checking on me?" He was quiet and then he said, "You loved me even then, _mon cher_?"

"I think," I said, "if you want to know the truth, I fell a little bit in love with you when you scowled at me and told me to dock the saucer section manually."

He laughed. "I felt so bad, afterwards," he admitted. "You were brilliant, and you handled it with your usual aplomb, and I didn't even praise you for it."

"Why would you praise me for doing my job?" I said. "I don't know why you felt bad. You weren't harder on me than you are on yourself, Jean-Luc. I realised that within six weeks of being aboard. And you never would have asked me to do it, if you'd thought I'd have failed. That isn't who you are."

"You are my sweet boy," he said, and he pulled me to him again. "I'm not sure what's bothering you, Will, and I don't think you know either. But you know what you're supposed to do, when these things surface. You know how to care for yourself, now. And you have me, and the rest of your support team to help you. You just close your eyes now, and go back to sleep. I'm right here." And then he said in my ear, "I won't ever leave you, _mon cœur_."

"You'd better not," I told him sleepily, "not now that Admiral Laidlaw's already agreed to perform the ceremony, and Dr McBride has already agreed to come."

"Although I'm not sure why you had to invite Mrs Troi," he said, and he sounded sleepy himself. "I can just imagine the look on her face when she receives the invitation."

"I'm sure, Jean-Luc, that Deanna will tell us all about it." I wrapped one arm around him and closed my eyes.

"Go to your safe place, if you have to, Will," he murmured. "You can sleep there."

I nodded, and found myself walking down the path of the Arboretum, heading towards the pond. It was true, somehow, that I was always able to sleep where I had first realised just how much Jean-Luc loved me.

2.

To say that Lior Cardozo was surprised when he received a message that the captain of the _Enterprise_ wanted to see him would be an understatement. He'd been working quietly at his station in stellar cartography when a message pinged on his desktop. He'd assumed it was his wife Tzippi, confirming their "date" night – they were going to the beach in Eilat, which was Tzippi's hometown – and so he hadn't answered it right away; not that he was ever in the habit of ignoring Tzippi, but he was in the middle of something delicate. Tzippi usually sent the message and knew he'd get back to her as soon as he could; she was currently off shift. The message pinged again, and with just a little bit of annoyance, he answered it.

"Commander Cardozo," Captain Picard said, and for a moment, Lior Cardozo was simply too surprised to say anything at all.

Finally he answered, "Captain. Sir." And then he said, "Did you need something from stellar cartography, sir?"

"Actually, Commander," the captain said, and was it his imagination, or did the captain seem a bit unsure of himself? "I am contacting you in your capacity as Rabbi Cardozo."

"Oh," Cardozo said. Then he pulled himself together. "What can I do for you, Captain?"

"I was wondering if I could meet with you, after you get off shift," Picard said. "You're alpha shift, yes?"

"Yes, sir."

"And I believe your - rabbinical office is on Deck Seven, is that right?"

"Yes, sir," Cardozo replied. "But I'd be happy to come to you, sir."

"Oh, no, that's fine, Rabbi." Picard gave a very small smile. "At sixteen hundred, then?"

"Yes, sir. Sixteen hundred is fine." He would have to comm. Tzippi.

"Acknowledged," Picard said, signing out.

Cardozo stared blankly at the viewscreen for a moment and wondered briefly why the captain of the _Enterprise_ would want to see him in his rabbinical capacity. He messaged Tzippi, who responded to him right away.

"What time were we supposed to meet again?" he asked.

She rolled her eyes. "Sixteen thirty," she answered, brushing one of the errant strands of her red hair away from her face.

"I thought so," he said. He could hear their youngest Asaf grizzling in the background. "I am so sorry, _yekirati_, but Captain Picard has asked to see me."

"There isn't a problem, is there?" Tzippi asked. She bent down and picked up Asaf. "Wave to _Abba_, Asaf," she said, and the toddler obligingly waved.

"Not in stellar cartography," Cardozo answered. "He asked to see me as Rabbi Cardozo, in my office, at sixteen hundred."

"Then," Tzippi said, "it has to do with Commander Riker."

Of course. He felt a little silly. "You're right, as you always are," he said. "Will never mentions the captain, when we meet. It's just straightforward Beginning Judaism between us."

"Perhaps it has to do with their wedding," Tzippi suggested.

"I doubt it. The commander has expressed no interest in converting. He's exploring spirituality, looking for a way to make sense out of what's happened in the past year, that's all. I believe he said his mother's family was Russian Orthodox, so I doubt there's much serious interest on his part. He met me through his doctor, and he's a curious man."

"Well, we can put our date off for an hour," Tzippi said generously. "I'll call the caregiver and let her know."

He smiled. "I don't want to put it off for more than that," he said. "I've been looking forward to this all week."

"We put the limit at four," Tzippi said tartly, and he laughed.

He glanced at the chronometer, and realised he would have to get ready for his meeting with the captain. He saved his notes and ended his program, and then stood up, stretching. He looked over at the cubicle next to his and said, "There's no budget for overtime, Lieutenant," but he was grinning, because he knew that Lieutenant Liatos would never have logged in overtime anyway.

Vara Liatos smiled back and began the process of shutting down. "Of course not, sir," she replied. "Looking forward to tonight?"

"Yes," he said, "but I have a meeting with Captain Picard first."

"Good luck with that," she said, rising. "I've heard he can be difficult."

"I'd heard that too," Cardozo acknowledged. "But he was very gracious when we put the Chanukah party together for Dr McBride."

"You can tell me all about it tomorrow," Liatos said. "As for me, I've an appointment at the gym."

"Train hard," he said as he accompanied her out of the warren of offices and labs that was stellar cartography. Liatos was on the ship's tennis team; they were scheduled to play the team on the _Hood_ when they rendezvoused for their regular repairs.

They stepped onto the turbo lift together, and Cardozo said, "Deck Seven," and Liatos said, "Deck Twelve."

"Have a good time, Commander," Liatos said when the turbo lift stopped. "I mean," she said, blushing, "with your wife."

"Thank you, Lieutenant," he replied. "Still coming for _Shabbos_ dinner?"

"Wouldn't miss it," she answered just as the turbo lift doors closed.

He walked down the corridor to his office, which he shared with one of the junior counsellors and another member of the ship's chaplaincy corps. "Lights, fifty percent," he said as he walked through the counselling area into his small office. He touched briefly the mezuzah on the doorway and brought his fingers to his lips, and then he cleared off his desk, fixed the chair seated across from his desk so that it wouldn't look as if he were interviewing the captain, and ordered a glass of tea from the replicator. He heard the doors open and he walked outside his office to greet Jean-Luc Picard.

"Captain," he said, "in here, if you would, sir."

"Rabbi Cardozo," the captain returned. "Thank you."

Cardozo waited for the captain to enter, touched the mezuzah once again, and then waited for the captain to sit. He then pulled his chair a bit away from his desk, so that the desk was not between them.

"We haven't had a chance to speak," Captain Picard said, "since Dr McBride's party. How are you settling in?"

"My wife Tzippora loves her job, sir," Cardozo answered, "as do I. You have a beautiful ship, and the facilities in stellar cartography are amazing."

"Good, good," Picard said.

"May I get you something to drink, sir?" Cardozo asked, glancing at the condensing glass of iced tea on his desk.

"Tea, please," Picard replied. "Earl Grey, hot. It's already programmed."

"Aye, sir," Cardozo said. He handed the captain his mug of tea, and then felt free to take a sip of his own.

"I believe," Picard continued, placing his mug down on Cardozo's desk, "that you have children aboard?"

"Yes, sir," Cardozo said. "We have four children, two boys and two girls. It's another reason why we were so happy when I got this posting."

"Well," Picard said, "Commander Riker has had nothing but good to say about you, so I am glad that you and your family are fitting in."

Cardozo said, hesitantly, "You asked to see me in my capacity as a rabbi, Captain. Are you here to discuss Commander Riker?"

"Yes," Picard answered in his abrupt way, and then he said, "I would prefer to speak to you in confidence. In your capacity as chaplain aboard this ship."

"You haven't told Commander Riker that you're speaking to me?" Cardozo asked, and he felt himself settling into the familiar role of rabbi.

"Not as yet," Picard replied. "I wished to speak to you first. Whatever I learn from you will factor in to what I say to him."

"You know that he is taking lessons in my Beginning Judaism course," Cardozo said. "And that he intends to come to _Shabbat_ services, when he can?"

"Yes, he's told me," Picard replied. "If, Rabbi, you can help him find some sort of spiritual centre for himself, then that would be a good thing."

"So you are not opposed to him coming here, then?" Cardozo asked carefully.

Picard looked a little surprised. "Of course not," he said. "Why would I be opposed? We must all make sense of this universe and our place in it, Rabbi. And that's especially true for us here in deep space. Will never struck me as being particularly interested in spiritual matters before he became ill, and perhaps that's why the repercussions of his illness have hit him so hard." Picard paused, and then he said, "I don't know what he's told you about his illness, or what McBride may have said. And I don't know how much you know about this illness and its treatment. I thought, if you were going to be seeing Will on a regular basis, that I would find out."

"I know a good deal about the illness itself, sir," Cardozo said. "Obviously not as much as you do, having dealt with it personally, but psychology and counselling are mandatory studies for those of us in the chaplaincy corps. And while we gladly leave the medical component to eminent psychiatrists, I am familiar with the illness from a spiritual point of view. Commander Riker is not my first sufferer of PTSD, although I understand his illness was its severest form. You can be assured, Captain, that I understand he is in recovery, and, perhaps, still fragile."

Picard sighed. "He would hate to hear himself described as still fragile, Rabbi. That was a major issue of contention between us, as he felt he would never be cured of this disease and so perhaps was no longer qualified to be my first."

"And yet he is, Captain, still fragile," Cardozo said. "Otherwise you would not be here."

"You remind me of Alasdair McBride," Picard said, finally.

"There is confidentiality, when you speak to a chaplain." Cardozo sipped his tea and waited for the captain to reveal his reason for being here.

"The other night he seemed upset, although he claimed he was merely distracted. It took some time to coax him into talking to me – he still has a difficult time expressing himself, emotionally – and that was when he asked me if I would mind if he saw you as a spiritual advisor." Picard paused, and lifted his mug, but then he placed it back on the desk. "I reassured him that it was not an issue at all for me. But there was something else that he either wasn't aware of or wasn't able to express to me. Later, he woke with one of his old nightmares, one connected to one of his major traumas. He didn't seem to understand why he'd had the dream, at the time. But he has wakened every night in distress since, and this morning he had a panic attack, something he hasn't had since Dr McBride left."

"You think his seeing me is connected to these events?" Cardozo asked.

"I think that perhaps there has been a trigger," Picard replied. "We need – I need – to know what that trigger was. He has the tools of self-care, Rabbi. He is still on his medication, both the anti-depressant and the anti-anxiety. He has a variety of grounding tools and visualisations to help him stay centered and in the present. He has me and the rest of his support team."

"I would like you to consider myself as part of his support team, Captain."

"Thank you," Picard said. "The other issue is more than likely connected. I am afraid that he is feeling guilt – and probably shame, as well – over the crimes of his father. We'd dealt with this issue during his treatment, but it seems to be bothering him again. I thought perhaps the two were connected – the trigger and how he feels."

"I am not," Cardozo said, "very familiar with the role his father played in what happened, except from what I have heard. Commander Riker has not discussed it with me."

"And I am not sure that he would appreciate me informing you, if he has not brought the subject up," Picard responded. "Suffice to say his father was an extraordinarily evil man. A man who did great harm, not only to his son, but to a great many other people as well, including other children."

"I see," Cardozo said, and he thought he did, see. "I understand your concern, sir, and I share it with you. If you don't mind, let me look into this a little further, and then, let me talk to Commander Riker."

Picard was quiet, and did, at last, sip from his tea. "Do you know what the trigger is, Rabbi?" he asked.

"I may know of a connection, Captain," Cardozo said. "But I'm not sure, and I will have to look into the information you've given me on his father."

"You will keep me informed?" Picard rose.

"Yes," Rabbi Cardozo agreed. "I will keep you informed. Thank you for coming to me with this, sir."

"If I have to return Commander Riker to sickbay, so soon after his medical leave, Rabbi," Picard said, "his career in Starfleet will be over."

Cardozo looked at the worry etched into the face of the captain, and he wondered what else might be over, if William Riker were no longer medically fit for duty. How could the First Officer of the Enterprise be expected to become the captain's civilian companion on the very same ship in which he'd served? What a burden, Cardozo thought, for both these men to bear.

"Captain Picard," Lior Cardozo said, as Picard walked towards the doors.

"Yes?" Picard turned around.

"I won't tell you not to worry, sir," Cardozo said. "You obviously love him very much, or you wouldn't be here. But I can assure you, sir, that I will do everything I can to help you, and to help Will. He's a good man, sir. He's a little lost, right now, but I think we can help him if we work together."

Picard's features relaxed a bit and he said, "Thank you, Rabbi. I shall look forward to your help."

Cardozo nodded and watched Picard leave. He returned to his office, pausing again at the mezuzah, and placed Picard's now-cold tea in the receptacle. Then he sat down and booted up his computer. He would have to update himself on the literature of PTSD, he thought, and then he thought, perhaps he should simply message Alasdair McBride. Extraordinarily evil. He glanced at the old-fashioned liturgical calendar hanging on his wall.

It was the sixth of Adar. He opened up his copy of the Babylonian Talmud on his computer, and began reading what the sages had to say on another extraordinarily evil man.

He was sure he'd mentioned the story of Purim, of the young girl Hadassah and her monumental battle against Haman, to Commander Riker in their last session; in fact, he'd given Will the story to read. If Will Riker had read the story of Esther, then Lior Cardozo knew what the trigger was, and he wondered exactly how he would correct Will's misunderstanding of the story. Because he felt fairly sure that William Riker had read the fate of Haman's ten sons and had assumed that he was one.

3.

It was stupid, I knew it was stupid, there was no reason for this to be happening, and yet I could feel myself falling away, outside of myself, losing the feeling in my hands and my feet first, then in my limbs, and then I could no longer breathe; I was dying, even though I knew goddamned well that I wasn't dying, I was dying just the same, and then I could no longer feel anything at all.

"Will?" It was Beverly kneeling beside me. "You're just going to feel a pinch."

"I don't want – " I began, but it was too late; she'd given me the hypo spray. "You didn't have to call Beverly," I said, aggrieved, to Jean-Luc, who was beside me as well.

"William," he said, and I could hear that he was angry, "you are on the deck. Of course I had to call Beverly."

"He's not hurt, Jean-Luc," Beverly said. "His panic attack triggered an autonomic response and he lost consciousness. He should be fine, as long as we address the cause of the anxiety." She tucked the tricorder away and said, "Let's get you back up, Will. Slowly, now, you'll probably be a little dizzy. Jean-Luc, why don't you get him a glass of water? He's a little dehydrated."

I saw Jean-Luc set his face back into a neutral expression, and I felt my stomach clench. "I'm sorry," I said, more to him than to Beverly, but he was getting my water from the replicator and didn't respond. I stood up slowly, acknowledging that I felt a little dizzy, as Beverly had said I would, and allowed Beverly to lead me to the sofa. I sat down and tried to concentrate on my breathing.

"Here, Will," Jean-Luc said, handing me the glass of water, and to appease him, I took a few sips. He sat down beside me and said, "What is going on?"

"I don't know," I said, and when I saw the look on his face, I added, "Sir. I would tell you, if I knew."

"You should rest now, Will," Beverly said, "and then I want you in sickbay at thirteen hundred, so that I can run a diagnostic. And then," she continued, "I'm going to ask you to see Deanna, along with Joao da Costa, after your appointment with me. I'll contact them and set it up."

"I don't have time for that, Beverly," I said. "I've a department head meeting scheduled at oh-eleven-thirty, which is supposed to run through lunch, and then I have a project meeting with Data and Geordi at fourteen hundred –"

"Well, you will just have to change – " Beverly began, and then Jean-Luc said quietly,

"Mr Riker."

I sighed. "Sir."

"You will reschedule your meetings and do as Dr Crusher says," he said.

"But – "

"Don't force me to order you to do this, Number One," he said, standing. "How long should he rest for, and do you have any suggestions as to who should stay with him? What shift is Mr Stoch on, Will?"

"Sir," I said, rising, "I don't need to be babysat –"

Jean-Luc said, "You are having a resurgence of symptoms. If you think for one minute that I am going to just pretend that this is not happening –"

"Gentlemen," Beverly said, using her peacemaker voice. "I think it would probably be a good idea if the two of you backed off, for a bit. Will, I've given you an anti-anxiety, and if you're not feeling groggy now, you will be. I suggest you go to bed. The captain's proposal that someone should stay with you is a valid one, so the choice is yours. Will you come with me to sickbay and rest there, where I can keep an eye on you, or will you accept the presence of Mr Stoch here?"

I glanced at Jean-Luc, whose face was stone-like in his refusal to consider anything else. "Mr Stoch is on alpha shift, sir," I said. "I'll just stay here, in the dayroom. There are reports I need to finish."

"Picard to Stoch," Jean-Luc said. "Report to my quarters."

Stoch's voice returned, "On my way, Captain."

"I will see you at thirteen hundred, Will," Beverly said, and I nodded. "Come with me, Jean-Luc," she said, and he followed her out the doors.

I took my padd off the desk, and sat back down on the sofa. I wasn't feeling particularly groggy, at least not yet, but there was no way I was going to continue to argue with Jean-Luc over this. He was already pissed off at me. The doors opened and he came back in, and, to my surprise, sat next to me.

"Beverly seemed to indicate that perhaps my _concern_," and there was an ironic tone to his voice, "was likewise causing you to feel anxious."

I didn't say anything, because I wasn't sure how to respond. "I guess," I said, finally, "I interpreted your _concern_ as anger, Jean-Luc." I paused, and then I said, "And I know, it's frustration, not anger. It just takes me a while to figure that out. Still."

He took my hand, and I placed the padd beside me. "Oh, you were correct," he said. "I am angry."

I could feel the anxiety rise in me like a giant bubble to the surface and then settle, right in the pit of my stomach. "You're angry with me?" I asked. I could do this, I thought. I am thirty-seven years old. I am not eight. This is not my father, I told myself; this is Jean-Luc; he's never hit me and he's allowed to feel whatever he feels.

He was watching me carefully, and he took my other hand, the way he did when he wanted me to pay attention. "Breathe," he said. "Can you do this?"

I breathed. "Yes," I said. "I can do it."

"You're sure?"

I nodded.

"You can do this without crying?" he asked.

Okay, so now the anxiety was changing into my own anger. "Of course I can," I said.

"Yes, I'm angry with you," he said. "I'm frustrated with the process of this illness, because it seems to me that we are still such a long way from a full recovery. And I know that's not a fair thing for me to feel," he added. "You've done remarkably. You work hard every day. You follow your treatment plan. But," he said, "there's very little that's fair about how we feel, Will. This is beginning to feel like a setback to me, and there's nothing fair about that, if it's true. We've both worked too hard for that now."

"But you're angry with me," I reminded him, "not the illness."

"That's right," he agreed, "and I'm sure that's not fair either, but that's the way it is. You've experienced a trigger, and you haven't dealt with it. You haven't even told me that you have, in fact, experienced a trigger. Instead, you're choosing to deal with this on your own, and the consequence of that is my sleep is being interrupted, you've knocked yourself silly on the deck of my quarters, and I am about to lose my First Officer _again_."

I remembered to breathe. I said, "You might be catastrophising just a little, Jean-Luc."

"I don't find you a bit amusing," he replied. "I am finding myself wondering if the burden of returning to your post is too much for you." He let that sink in and then he said, "Or perhaps that you are having second thoughts about the wedding."

I would not cry. "It's not either of those two things, Jean-Luc," I said. "If I knew what it was, I would tell you."

"It's an untenable situation, then," he said, and he stood up. "I have an entire ship to think about, Number One, with a complement of over one thousand. I cannot in good conscience consider the one over the other nine hundred and ninety-nine."

"No, sir," I said, looking at the floor. "What do you want me to do?"

"You'll do what I've just asked you to do," he replied. "You will see Dr Crusher at thirteen hundred, and then Counsellor Troi and Mr da Costa right after. And surely amongst all of you, there will be a consensus as to what the trigger was and what the plan should be."

I nodded, because I wasn't going to catastrophise either, and I wasn't going to goddamned cry. He turned to leave, but then he came back and pulled me to him.

"You are sure that this is not stress over the wedding?" he asked, gently, kissing me on the top of my head. "There is absolutely no reason in the world why we have to marry so quickly, nor is there any reason why half of Starfleet should be invited."

"Half of Starfleet isn't invited," I said, "and it's not the wedding, Jean-Luc. I would tell you, I promise you I would."

"_Bien_," he said. "You rest. Will you let me know when you're finished with Deanna and da Costa?"

"Yes," I said. "I'll let you know."

"I will see you for dinner, then," he said.

"Okay," I answered, and he left.

I sat on the sofa, waiting for Stoch, concentrating on my breathing. It would, I thought, be so easy to give in to the bad thoughts which were currently circling around me. But I didn't have to do this; I didn't have to let my life slip out of my control yet again. One of the things that Rabbi Cardozo had talked to me about was using small meditations as a way to distract myself from negative thoughts or negative behaviours. I could sit here, and worry about what Jean-Luc had said about my being ill again, and not being fit for service – something almost completely out of my control – or I could use the meditation that Lior had given me, and it might even work. I'd written it on my padd, so I booted my padd up and then I read, _Elohai n'shamah shenatata bi, t'horah hi_. _Source of all that exists, the soul that You placed in me is pure; You have created it and formed it; You breathed it into me, and within me You sustain it…So long as I have breath I will give thanks to You, my Source and my Creator._ I read it three times, and then the door chimed, and I told Stoch to enter, and I went into the bedroom I shared with Jean-Luc and laid down. Somehow I would figure out what the trigger to this had been, and I would work through it, because I'd already worked through so much, and then everything would be all right.

4.

One of the first things one learns as a rabbi, or as a chaplain, is that one has to build a sort of file cabinet, and all the things one hears as a counsellor, and a chaplain, and a father-figure go into that file cabinet, with the drawers locked shut, or one would never have any personal life at all.

So Cardozo watched the captain walk down to the turbo lift, and he closed up his office, and he went home, on Deck Seven, to find Tzippi dressed and waiting for him, and Asaf already asleep. The caregiver, the daughter of the shift chief of Tzippi's lab, was reading to the other three – Natan, who was eight, and Aliza, who was five, and Ofrit, who was three – and he went in and kissed them all, and wished them good night. Then he showered and changed, and together he and Tzippi walked to the turbo lift and then on to Holodeck Three.

It was lovely, Cardozo thought, but of course it wasn't really Eilat. You couldn't really program the smell of salt in the air, or the smell of real food coming from the kiosks. You couldn't fill up the holodeck with Tzippi's crazy family, with the aunts and the uncles and the siblings and the nieces and nephews and grandchildren, oy. Still, the sun was shining, and the wind was warm. The birds were calling and circling over head, the waves coming in to the sand, the sand warm and feeling just as it should. They sat on a blanket and had a picnic and talked about the kids and about everything and about nothing. They went for a swim. They kissed for a little. It wasn't Eilat – it wasn't home – but it was good.

"You're troubled," Tzippi said. "I know. There's confidentiality involved. Sometimes, though, another person's thoughts can help."

"The captain is worried, as well he should be," Cardozo answered.

"Commander Riker had a panic attack that was quite severe this morning," Tzippi said. "Severe enough to knock him out and send him to sickbay. And I'm not saying anything that's not all over the ship, Lior. We did his blood work. He's dehydrated again."

"Is he in sickbay, then?" Cardozo asked.

"Not as far as I know," Tzippi replied. "Dr Crusher gave him fluids. I'm fairly sure he was released after that."

"I shall have to speak to Counsellor Troi, I think," Cardozo said. "And I may have to contact Dr McBride."

"You know he had a form of anorexia," Tzippi said.

"Yes, he told me."

"Let's go home." Tzippi slipped her hand in his, and together they left Eilat for Deck Seven.

He was in his office. He'd spoken to Counsellor Troi, and had been given basic information about William Riker's diagnosis of severe complex PTSD and the cascade of symptoms that he'd suffered – flashbacks, hallucinations, night terrors, nightmares, panic attacks, anorexia, and dissociation into his younger, victimised self. He'd learned the type of monster Kyle Riker had been, what he'd done to his own child, what he was suspected of doing to countless other children. He'd learned of Section 31, and the role Captain Picard and Admiral Thomas Laidlaw had played in exposing it. A number of people had been taken down, including two admirals; Kyle Riker was dead.

He wondered if that wasn't half the problem. There was no restitution or reparations, for Will Riker. No vindication in a military court. No way of someone publicly acknowledging the great wrong that had been done to him as a child, by the Federation and by Starfleet itself, it seemed. Not only had William Riker helped to save Earth and the Federation from the Borg, he had also helped to save it from an evil within, at great personal cost. And yet there was no justice, for him.

The story of Purim had been the trigger for the resurgence of symptoms, and so Cardozo had spoken to Alasdair McBride, and had asked him what he should do.

McBride had been happy to speak with him. "Tell me what's happening, Lior," he'd said. He was in his office on SB 515.

Cardozo told him what he knew. "You will probably be hearing from either Counsellor Troi or Dr Crusher," he said.

"Oh, I've already heard from Joao da Costa," McBride replied. To Cardozo's surprise, he didn't seem terribly concerned.

"The captain is afraid he will be back in sickbay," Cardozo said. "He came to see me."

"Did he," McBride remarked. He smiled. "Jean-Luc is fiercely protective of Will. Don't let that frighten you, Lior."

"He is formidable," Cardozo said, and McBride laughed.

"Oh, he can be defanged," McBride said. "I had to, on more than one occasion." He sat in his chair and sipped from a mug of tea. "What triggered this, Lior? Obviously you know, or _you_ wouldn't be contacting me; Deanna would, or Beverly."

"He's been seeing me for lessons," Cardozo explained, "my usual Beginning Judaism class. He's looking for answers, and he was affected by the Chanukah celebration for you. Then Ambassador Spock was aboard the ship for Tu b'Shevat, and apparently invited Will to celebrate the seder with him. Will has spoken to me about it; the Ambassador affected him deeply. It turns out that this year's seder was on the Yahrzeit of his mother's death."

"And the gateway was open," McBride said. "Yes, I could see how that would affect him. So he's learning to be a Jew, is that it? Does he intend to convert?"

"He's learning about Judaism," Cardozo said. "There are others, in the class. I don't think he intends to convert. I don't think he knows what he wants to do. But he stays after, to talk to me. I've given him some meditations, to help with negative thoughts, and to continue his work with mindfulness. He's learning Hebrew. He's quite good at languages."

"There isn't much he isn't good at," McBride said, "except living."

Cardozo was silent; Troi had told him about Riker's suicide attempt, and his precarious journey back to health. Or a version of health, at least. "We have been discussing the liturgical year," he said. "I gave the students the story of Purim. Will Riker read it and began experiencing symptoms. Captain Picard told me that he started first with nightmares, relating to an old one, apparently. Then panic attacks. He was treated for dehydration. The captain is worried enough to wonder if he should remain in Starfleet."

"His father was Haman, you see," McBride said. "Of course. What happened to the sons of Haman? They were killed without mercy, and then hanged on the same gallows, all ten of them."

"His father was a terrible man," Cardozo said.

"Oh, no," McBride corrected. "His father was the Destroyer."

"Haman," Cardozo said. "Again."

"Yes," McBride responded. "Does Will understand that Purim, unlike Passover, is not historically based?"

"I don't know," Cardozo answered. "I'd only just given them the story. The class is tomorrow."

"And so because he is the son of Haman, he shares his father's shame and guilt."

"Yes, I think so."

"And the illness reappears, because once again, he doesn't believe he has a right to an existence."

"Yes."

McBride sighed. "It's a shame, that you are so very far away from me," he said. "I could take him here, work with him again. It wouldn't be very long, to correct this."

"Captain Picard said that if Commander Riker went on medical leave again, so soon after what happened, it would be the end of his career."

"Jean-Luc would resign, before he would lose Will," McBride said. "Starfleet can't afford to lose them both." He stood up, walked to his window, and then turned round again. "You will have to explain the meaning of the story to him, Lior. You will have to tell what the sons of Haman represent, what they were supposed to have done. You will have to tell him of the _parasha_ in Deuteronomy, 24.16."

"Yes, I intend to," Cardozo agreed. "I have asked to see him today."

"You will tell him about Haman's grandchildren," McBride said.

"Yes. Will this work?" Cardozo asked.

"He was eight, when his father murdered his best friend," McBride said. "He knew his father had killed her. He found her body. He remained silent, all those years. The shame and the guilt of this nearly killed him. That Purim should cause a resurgence of that shame and guilt doesn't surprise me. But you must help him see the true meaning of Purim, the reason why we celebrate."

"I will do what I can," Cardozo said.

"Joao da Costa will work with you, if you need him," McBride said. "Bring them onboard, da Costa and Troi. Then let Jean-Luc know. But talk to Will, first. It's crucial, to find out just how much he realises."

"Thank you, Sandy," Cardozo said. "_Shalom_."

"_Shalom_ to you, my friend," McBride replied. "Keep me informed."

Cardozo sat silently for a while, staring at an empty viewscreen. Then he put on his _tallit_ and _tefillin_ and prayed.

5.

By the time I was on my way to my meeting with Rabbi Cardozo, I was already exhausted from a long and miserable day. I'd managed to divert my anxiety over Jean-Luc's disappointment in me long enough to rest and work through a breathing exercise and visualisation with Stoch. Stoch had cancelled his other appointments to stay with me – he was now a permanent member of our new PTSD treatment program, based on the model that Dr McBride had created for us, along with Joao da Costa; da Costa had already become certified as a counsellor, and would be transferring to the University of Betazed to complete his studies, and Stoch was not that far behind him. Jean-Luc had field promoted the two of them to ensigns, although Stoch had been loathe to accept it, he had. It had eased some of the tension between himself and his family, and I was glad of that. Stoch stayed with me long enough to make sure I had something to eat, and then, reminiscent of the times when he'd started out as my babysitter, he walked me down to sickbay.

Going back into the biobed had triggered a cascade of unwanted memories from my illness, and the little progress I'd made in the morning simply evaporated. The whole process – stripping down, being immobilised, listening to the chatter of sickbay and the banter between Ogawa and everyone else, having Deanna show up because Jean-Luc had decided that I needed to be escorted to my meeting with her and da Costa….what was the point of going through everything I'd been through, if I was going to be treated as if I were back at square one again?

The clincher was Beverly telling me I was moderately dehydrated, and that I would, once again, need fluids.

"But I am eating," I said, only to be met with disbelief.

"Will," Beverly said. "Because of your extreme loss of body mass, it doesn't take much to make you off-balance again. I'm going to set up an appointment with Gwyn."

Gwyn Otaka was my nutritionist; the thankless job that that had been.

"Fuck," I said. "Could this day get any worse?"

When I reached Deanna's office, she'd heard from Rabbi Cardozo, who thought he knew what my trigger had been, and da Costa had spoken to Dr McBride. What I'd thought was going to be merely a session in which I discussed the fact that I seemed to be having a few symptoms turned into a full CBT therapy session, including affect management with Deanna and acoustic reduction therapy with Joao. I was completely wrung out, and thought that I'd have had an easier day if Jean-Luc hadn't intervened, and I could have just chaired the department head meeting and spent two hours with Data and Geordi.

So now I was on Deck Seven, going to the chaplaincy office to speak with Lior Cardozo, and I was tired and very, very cranky.

"Come in, Will," Lior said, opening the door to his small office for me. He'd rearranged the chairs and pushed his desk back, so we could sit facing each other.

"You need a bigger office," I said. "I feel like a frost giant in here."

"That's an interesting choice," Lior replied. "What is it about my office that would make you feel that way?"

"What way?" I said.

He handed me a glass of what looked like tea. "I've been told to keep you drinking," he answered. "This is Tzippi's mint tea."

I sighed, and took a sip. "It's got an infusion of something in it," I said, trying it again. "Orange and honey, maybe?"

"You're good," Lior said, surprised. "Tzippi told me you had a reputation as a cook, but I didn't believe it."

"Yeah, it's ironic," I replied, "that the guy who can't eat is good with food."

"Perhaps we can tempt you with some Purim goodies, then," Lior said. "But I'd like to know why you feel like a frost giant."

"Rabbi," I said, irritably, "with all due respect, I've been psychoanalysed enough today. I don't want to play anymore."

"Resistance is often telling," Lior remarked. "Although I'm sure you are tired, Will. I understand from Captain Picard that your sleep has been interrupted, and that you had a severe panic attack this morning."

"You mean, _his_ sleep is interrupted," I said. "And it wasn't severe." It took me a minute to realise the full impact of what he'd said. "The captain was here? To talk to you?"

"Breathe, Will," Lior said.

"I'm tired of people telling me to breathe. The whole fucking ship is telling me when to breathe."

"Then perhaps you should breathe," Lior said mildly.

"Is that a Jewish thing? Because now you sound like McBride."

Lior smiled. "We Jews developed psychoanalysis, that's true," he answered. "So perhaps it is indeed a Jewish thing."

"Ah, fuck," I said. "I'm sorry, Rabbi."

"May I make an observation, Will?" he asked, kindly.

"Yes. I guess so."

"Will," he said. "You're not in therapy, with me. If you don't want to speak to me, you don't have to. And you can tell me no. You can say, No, Rabbi, I don't want you to make an observation. It's perfectly okay with me."

I looked at him, and then I remembered to breathe. "You said you might know what my trigger is."

"I did say that."

"Then you can make your observation," I said. "You even have McBride's tone."

"He has a tone?" Lior asked.

"Yeah," I said. "When he's talking to me, he uses G major. It's a good key, G major. Musically, I mean."

"Sandy did not tell me that you have synaesthesia," Lior said. "That makes a good deal of sense."

"What the hell is synaesthesia?" I asked.

"Do you see colour in music?"

"Of course I do," I said. "Every musician does. All music has colour."

"No, I mean, do you see the individual notes in colour? When you hear a score, for example?"

"Like E flat being dark blue, you mean?"

"Yes, that's exactly what I mean. Do you see words and numbers in colour too?"

"Of course I do," I said. "Doesn't everyone?"

"No," Lior answered. "That's synaesthesia." He sipped his tea. "At the risk of irritating you, Will, I'm supposed to remind you to drink."

"Soon the whole ship will be doing that too," I said. "As it is I have random ensigns telling me to breathe."

To my surprise, Lior laughed. "I can see why your captain is so protective of you," he said.

"Is that why he was here? To protect me?" I asked, sipping the tea. It was good; as good as Guinan's.

"Yes," Lior answered matter-of-factly. "He wanted me to know your background. He told me what was happening. He is afraid, for you."

"You were going to make an observation," I reminded him.

"Yes," he said. "I can see a number of tells, Will. Your hands are shaking. Your breathing is erratic. Your mood is irritable. You compared yourself to a frost giant – and to me, who has studied religion and mythology, that's significant. I think, Will, that you are in trouble – and I think you don't know, still, how to ask for help."

I looked down at my hands. The tremor was back. "My great-uncle Marty," I said, "and my great-aunt Tasya – my mother's aunt – took care of me when my father was away. At the time, I didn't know I was related to them. I called them Mr and Mrs Shugak, or Mr and Mrs S. Uncle Marty's grandfather was from Norway, and he used to tell stories about the Norse gods and the Vikings. That's all I meant, that I'm too big for this office. Like the frost giants."

"I think there's more to it than that," Lior said. "Who were the frost giants, Will?"

"They were one of the first races of beings to exist, I guess," I said. "I seem to remember that. They were always fighting with the gods. The Norse ones, I mean."

"Were they good or evil?" Lior asked.

"They were violent," I said, "and troll-like, and the fire-jötunn were supposed to bring about the end of the world."

"And does that describe you? Are you a bringer of death and destruction?"

I couldn't breathe.

"Are you a son of Haman, Will?" Lior asked. "A child of the Destroyer?"

"Yes," I said. I didn't cry. "I am."

6.

"Tell me," Rabbi Cardozo said, "what you read in the Book of Esther – in what we call the _Megilla_ – that made you come to this conclusion."

I took a breath, and tried to organise my thoughts. I could see the story in my mind, the one Lior had sent to my padd.

"Haman was an important man," I said. "The second-in-command to the king of Persia. He was also an evil man, a man who'd committed atrocities to get to where he was, and who made the decision to commit genocide based on nothing more than a personal insult to him."

"How do you know he'd committed atrocities to get to where he was?" Lior asked.

"He wasn't a relative of the king – at least the story didn't say he was," I said. "The story said he was from Agag, which seemed to suggest that he was different from the Persians."

"And?"

"How else would he have gotten where he was, in those times, if not by committing atrocities?" I asked. "I'm not entirely ignorant of ancient earth's history, Rabbi." I paused, and then I said, "Besides, the story you sent me mentioned that he formed a plot against the king's first wife, because he wanted his daughter to be married to the king instead. The wife ended up beheaded – another atrocity – but the king married Mordechai's young cousin instead of Haman's daughter."

"There's a bit more to what happened to Vashti than that," Lior suggested, "but, yes. I can agree with your line of thinking, here. One doesn't simply wake up one morning and discover that one is capable of genocide. The path that leads to genocide starts very early on. So yes, we can agree, Haman was an evil man in the story. But the story is not about Haman, is it? The story is about Mordechai and the courage of his cousin Hadassah – her Persian name being Esther."

"It's about what Haman tried to do," I said, "and how Esther stopped him, even though she was just a girl."

"How old do you think she was, Will?" Lior asked me.

"Old enough to get married," I said, "which in those times was very young, but she was also old enough to know who she was, and to maintain her identity, despite the pressure to assimilate."

"So she was not a child?"

"Not by their standards, certainly," I said. "By ours, maybe."

"And how did Esther manage to stop Haman and save our people?"

I opened my mouth to answer, and then stopped, because I realised that he'd said "our people." I was not a Jew – and I doubted very much that in my family's long history there'd ever been anyone who was. I wondered if he meant just himself, or if he'd meant to include me. I didn't know that even if he'd meant to include me, that I deserved it.

"Will?"

"She tricked Haman into revealing himself to the king, after she'd invited the king to several feasts," I answered. "Haman was then hanged on the gallows he'd erected for Mordechai, and his ten sons were killed, and then hanged as well."

"What had the sons done, to deserve a treatment worse than their father's?"

"They didn't stop him," I said. "They were going to join him in his genocide against the Jews, and then benefit from their destruction."

"So," Lior said. He reached for his glass and drank, finishing the tea. "I give you a story about a Jewish holiday that is different from all the other holidays that are celebrated. This one has no base in the Torah. This one seems to be historically-based, like Chanukah, or Pesach. This one is a joyous celebration, in which Jews for millennia have held masquerades, and parties, and drunken revelry, and children have performed _Purimspielen_, and have given special gifts to neighbours, and have sung songs and baked funny little pastries that are supposed to be in the shape of Haman's hat. The only obligation for this holiday is twofold: that you should give to the poor, even if you are poor yourself, and that you should become so drunk with joy that you cannot tell the difference between 'Blessed be Mordechai' and 'Cursed be Haman.' The question becomes, Will, what is it about this holiday, which most Jews consider a children's holiday and a fundraising opportunity for good works, that would upset you so?"

He waited, and I looked at the floor. Finally I said, "Are you saying that this holiday isn't important? That I've somehow conflated it into something it's not?"

"No," he said. "I'm not saying that at all. I merely said that _most_ Jews consider this a holiday for children and for giving to the poor."

I shrugged.

"Breathe, Will," he said gently.

I took a breath.

"You are not even Jewish," he said. "The holiday does not pertain to you at all."

"Neither was Haman," I answered, "nor were his sons."

"Ah," he said. "And so we come to the crux of the matter." He stood, and opened a drawer to his desk. "Here," he said, handing me a _kippah_. "Put this on. Do you remember the words to the _Sh'ma_?"

I put the _kippah_ on my head, and he handed me a hairpin, so I could fasten it. "I know the first few lines," I said. "I haven't memorised the whole prayer yet."

"Well, for this, you needn't say the whole prayer," he said. "The prayer, as with most prayer, is a meditation as well. It is a way to open a gateway from your soul to the Infinite, and to listen to what the Infinite has to say."

"You mean, like the Tu b' Shevat gateway? The one Ambassador Spock said opened on each New Year?"

"Yes," Lior answered. "They are all different gateways and yet all the same gateway. To say the prayer correctly, you must stand. Then cover your eyes with your hand, like so, to block out all worldly influences. Then you chant the prayer and continue to chant it, allowing yourself to fall into it and the gateway to open."

I watched as he took out his prayer shawl, and wrapped it around himself. He covered his face with his hands, and then began slowly to rock, back and forth on his feet, and then he began to sing the prayer, "_Sh'ma Yisroel_…." He seemed to become completely enveloped in the song and the movement, as if I were no longer in the room. It felt strange, to copy him, because as he said, I wasn't Jewish – I doubt if ever in any of the generations of my family tree, which went all the way back on my father's side to the founding of New Amsterdam and back even further on my mother's side, to when the first Aboriginal peoples traversed the land bridge from Siberia across the Bering Sea to Alaska, anyone was Jewish – and yet he'd asked me to participate, in the same way that Spock had asked me to participate. Spock had said to me that the gateway was all around me. That all I had to do was reach out with my hand and it would be there. That I could touch it and it would be real, for me. That all I had to do was to praise –

"It's all right, Will," Lior was saying. He was holding me in his arms; when had I begun to cry? "The gateway has never been closed, for you."

"I'm sorry, Rabbi," I said, wiping my face. I tried to pull away, but instead he held me tightly for a few minutes longer, and then helped me sit back down. He handed me some tissues, and I tried to clean myself up.

"You have nothing to apologise for, Will," he said. "You are an extraordinarily sensitive man – and you were probably a beautiful child. And that is the point, here."

"I wasn't a beautiful child," I said. "I was a terrible child. I knew my father was a monster and yet I did nothing, nothing to stop him. I gave him my best friend, to save myself. And I did terrible things."

"And once again," he said, "we come back to the sons of Haman."

"Yes," I said.

"You took from this holiday the part of the story which you felt pertained to you," he explained, "to your life story. You are the son of an evil man. According to Dr McBride, this man was monstrous in his acts, destroying not only his beautiful young son, but also anyone who dared to challenge him in any way. I've looked into the life of your father, Will, and I can understand why you would find a similarity between his behaviour and Haman's. And then you take the similarity even further – you look at the punishment that was meted out to Haman's ten sons, and you say to yourself – I was like them. I too did terrible things. And yet – despite my own best efforts – I am still alive. And so instead of waiting for punishment from _HaShem_, you decide to hand out your own death sentence once again. The symptoms of your illness return. Swiftly, this time. Already you are dehydrated, having nightmares, having panic attacks. Unable to breathe. Unable to sleep. Unable to eat. Unable to live."

I was silent. Finally I said, "Can you help me?"

"Are you a son of Haman?" he asked.

"Yes," I said, and I could feel that I was ready to cry again. "No – I never wanted to be him. I never wanted to be like him at all, and yet there has always been a part of me that was."

"I am going to go back to another story," he said, "and then I am going to talk about a _parasha_ that relates to that story and to this. And then we will look at this holiday, and what it means. Do you think you can do that, Will? Do you think that you can hold on, long enough to listen to what I have to say? Because I am worried – as Dr McBride is worried – that if we don't help you understand now, today – your downward spiral will increase. The thing is, Will –" he reached out and took my hand. "I don't think you want to die. I don't think you want to believe these things of yourself. I think you are desperate for the validation that you are not what you most fear."

"Please," I said. "If you can help me – if Dr McBride thinks that you can help me…." I let my voice trail away. "I don't want to be sick again. There are good things in my life, now. I don't want to say anything that will embarrass you, Rabbi –" I hesitated.

"Will," he said, "I'm a married man with four children. There's very little that can embarrass me." He smiled, and then he said, "I'm not sure where you got the idea that I would be disapproving –and that I wouldn't understand – the relationship you have with the captain. It's so strangely old-fashioned to think that –and it's quite in error. When the captain met with me, Will, it was obvious to me just how very much he loves you. That's an occasion for joy, not for disapproval."

"I guess," I said, "I've heard that some religions don't approve of some types of relationships. And I – I didn't know – I don't know much about any religions at all, other than what I learned in a class at school. There was no spiritual life, as you can well imagine, in my home. And my father – his abuse of me sometimes colours the way I still see things."

"Of course it does," Lior agreed. "I know."

"I've always been so alone," I said. "My father – he didn't want me to know that I was related to the people around me. He isolated me, and I helped him, by building a wall around me, because I felt I was damaged. Unclean. Any time anyone tried to get close to me – even if I wanted that person to be close to me – I put them off. I ran away. I didn't want them to know, that I wasn't whole, I guess." I remembered the look on Deanna's face when I comm.'d her from the _Potemkin_. "But when I came here, I felt as if I could belong, somehow. I decided I wouldn't run away. When I was offered my first command, I turned it down, because of what I thought I could have here….I wanted it so badly. And Jean-Luc – he made that happen for me. And when he told me that he knew how I felt about him, and that he cared for me too….I don't want to lose this, what I have with him. I don't want to give it up. I wake up in the morning and he holds me. He wants me. No one's ever wanted me, before."

"Will you let me help you, then, Will?" Rabbi Cardozo asked me. "You have a great deal to live for, now. You're getting married, to a man who loves you. You are brilliant at your position on this ship – and this is the best run ship I've ever served on, because of you."

I breathed. "Yes," I said.

"Let me tell you a story about Moshe Rabbenu and his brother Aaron," Lior Cardozo said, "and I think you will begin to understand this strange story of Purim, and what it can mean, for you."

7.

"You are familiar, perhaps, with the story of Moses – whom we call Moshe Rabbenu, out of respect?" I nodded, and Lior continued, "The situation in the desert, after leaving Egypt, was fraught with peril, not because of the dangers of the desert – after all, the people had water, and food, and shelter. No, it was dangerous because of the people themselves, because they had never been free. They'd never had to think for themselves or be responsible for themselves. They'd never had to make moral choices, or understand the concepts of mercy and justice. When you are a slave under brutal conditions, your life is hard and unpredictable and terrifying, and such deprivation whittles away your critical thinking and your humanity."

I didn't say anything, because I knew from personal experience it was true. My life as a child had been hard and unpredictable and terrifying, and I still struggled with impulse control, even at my age; when Dr McBride had showed me images of my brain, with the damage done to my amygdala and my hippocampus, it brought home to me why I struggled so with the kinds of issues that most people had abandoned in adolescence. I'd never gotten to adolescence; I'd been frozen, emotionally, at eight. In a way, I was dealing with my adolescence now.

"When Aaron was elevated to High Priest, his cousin, Korah, became very jealous, because it seemed to him, as the senior Levite, that his place had been usurped by these brothers, his cousins. He found two malcontents from the tribe next door, and set about stirring up a rebellion. Moshe was very hurt by this, and he pleaded with Korah to change his ways, but Korah became intransigent. Repeatedly, Moshe tried to negotiate, to change the ways of Korah and the other leaders of the community, Datan and Aviram, but his words fell on deaf ears. Eventually, _HaShem_ says to Moshe and Aaron, 'Stand back from this community, that I may annihilate them in an instant.'"

"So we go," I said, smiling a little, "from Jean-Luc to Worf."

Lior laughed. "Yes, diplomacy first," he said. "Then bring on the Klingon."

"I'm sorry," I said. "I didn't mean to interrupt."

"It's all right," he replied. "We're supposed to be talking; I'm not supposed to be lecturing. Do you know this part of the story, Will?"

"No," I answered. "I don't know this story at all."

"So do you think Moshe and Aaron stood back, and allowed _HaShem_ to wipe out Korah's rebellion and the community as well?" Lior asked. "After all, the Hebrews had already rebelled several times before."

"I'm guessing no," I said, "because then the innocent would be punished along with the guilty."

"And that is what happened," Lior confirmed. "Moshe and Aaron fell on their faces and then said, 'O G-d, Source of the breath of all flesh! When one man sins, will You be wrathful with the whole community?' The pair of them was able to use their loyalty to _HaShem_ and to the Jewish people to eliminate the idea of collective guilt. In Judaism, a new principle was established: Only the sinning individual is responsible for his or her evil deed."

"In the story of Purim, Haman is punished because of what he did," I said.

"And his sons – those specific ten sons that the story mentions – are likewise, Will, punished for what they did," he said. "For what they _did_, Will. In Judaism, the emphasis is always on the action. They were the sons who supported their father in every way. They were proud of him, the grand vizier. That his actions were evil was not something that ever either crossed their minds or bothered them in the slightest. Power, and its corruption, wealth and its excess – those were their concerns."

"So they – each one of them – committed the same types of atrocities as their father, which led them logically to genocide. And so their punishment was the same as his," I said.

"Yes. So now we return to you, and the moral dilemma that you feel you are in, when you hear this story. In the law, Will, we have the following _parasha_, Deuteronomy 24.16: _The fathers shall not be put to death for the children, nor shall the children be put_ _to death for the fathers; every man shall be put to death for his own sin_. The crux of your dilemma is to what degree are you responsible for the crimes of your father? You assumed that if your father were the Destroyer – Haman – and he goes by many names in our history, from Haman to Antiochus to Adolf Hitler and beyond – then you, because you are his son, are a son of Haman. But you are not, Will."

"Am I responsible, Rabbi, for what I didn't do? Is silence a sin?"

"Do we try children as adults in our community? Does an eight-year-old child have the same culpability as an adult? Does a child possess the same ability to analyse, to critically think? Or is a child dependent upon adults for his own survival?"

I looked at the floor.

"Dr McBride has gone over this with you, Will," Lior said. "Even had your home life been completely normal, you would still bear no responsibility for the crimes of your father. Your father chose to kill. He chose to abuse you. He chose to live the life he led. You didn't choose to be his son. If that had been a choice, Will, I'm sure you would have said no."

"I knew what he did," I said, "to my friend. I knew where she was. I said nothing. I did nothing. And I know what McBride told me. I know that I did what I could – _now_ – to make reparations for the damage that was done. I spoke to my friend's mother. They were able to find her body, after all these years, and give her the traditional burial."

I paused. "When I read the story, it just brought it all back, for me. How I could have chosen to be like Esther, but instead I was silent."

"Will," Lior said. "You were a child. Esther was not. I could give you forgiveness, Will – because that's what you want. It's what you need. But you must forgive yourself. You are wronging yourself, in persisting with this error."

I sighed. "Intellectually, I understand," I said. "But, really, Rabbi, I don't understand at all."

Lior sighed, and he stood up. "You haven't finished your tea, Will," he said, "and I'm surprised I haven't heard from the captain, looking for you. It's quite late."

"I doubt he'll be looking for me," I replied. "He's angry, and he's disappointed in me."

"Can you have a coffee?" Lior asked. "I'm having a cup." He took his glass and placed it in the receptacle, and I gave him mine.

"I can have decaf," I said. "I'm not allowed to have real coffee anymore."

"I can understand that. One coffee, hot, two creams, two sugars. How do you take yours?"

"Three creams, no sugar," I said.

"One coffee, decaf, hot, three creams." He handed me the mug, and then he sat back down. "Why do you think the captain is angry and disappointed with you?"

"He said he was angry, this morning. He thinks I'm not well enough to be in my post." I didn't repeat what he'd said about the wedding.

"I know that he is very worried that Starfleet will consider you unfit, if you need any more time off," Lior said. "He gave me absolutely no indication that he felt you were unfit, or even that he was angry with you. He was worried – even a little frightened, perhaps."

I shrugged. "He said I was trying to do this on my own," I answered, "and that I should have told him I'd been triggered – but I didn't know I had. That's the problem with this illness, always. I'm half a step behind realising what's really happening with me."

"So because he's upset and worried, you don't think he'll be more upset and worried that you're late to where you're supposed to be? Perhaps you should let him know that you are still with me."

"Okay," I said. "I guess that makes sense. Riker to Picard."

"Picard," Jean-Luc said. "Where are you, Number One?"

"I'm still in my meeting with Rabbi Cardozo, sir," I answered. "But I think we're wrapping up now." He was silent. "Captain?"

"Yes, of course," he said. "Report to me when you're finished, Number One."

"Aye, sir," I said. "Riker out." I took a sip of my coffee. "He's still mad at me," I said, and then realised I'd said "mad" instead of angry.

"You know him much better than I do," Lior replied, "although I'm not sure what you mean by 'mad'. He just sounded worried to me."

"His words are more abrupt when he's angry," I said. "I was supposed to contact him after my session with Deanna, and I forgot."

"So what's the worst thing that can happen, if he's angry with you, Will?"

"He'll send me to the brig?" I joked. Lior didn't say anything, and I said, "You really want me to answer this?"

"Will it bear scrutiny, do you think, if you speak it aloud?" Lior asked.

"I don't understand."

"If you say your worst fear aloud, will it bear the scrutiny of logic? Of rationality?" he explained. "Will it be about who you know him to be, or will it be more about your childhood fears?"

"I don't know," I said, as I could feel my eyes beginning to tear up again, "that I really want to talk about this, Rabbi."

"Okay, Will," he said, gently. "As I said before, you don't have to."

"My father was an evil man," I said, "a monster."

"Yes, Will."

"But he was all I thought I had," I said.

"Yes. You were in a terrible situation."

"When he left me, I was fifteen….I woke up one morning and he was just – gone." I remembered to breathe. "He left me a letter, saying that he wouldn't be coming back, and why."

Lior said, "What were his reasons, Will, for not coming back?"

I pressed my hands into my legs, so that I could feel that I was still in his office, that I wasn't letting go of my body, that I wasn't turning back into stone.

"He – he wasn't –" I didn't know how to say it. I started again. "I was too old for him…."

"He wasn't using you sexually anymore?" Lior asked. He was using McBride's tone of voice again.

I shook my head. "So there wasn't that, to keep him there. And he said I was too much trouble. I wasn't worth it, for him to stay. I was moody, and I got into too many fights…I was difficult."

"You hated him, for what he did to you," Lior said, "and yet you loved him, because he was all you had – and then he abandoned you."

I nodded. I couldn't say anything.

"But Will," Lior said, and he took my hand, the way Jean-Luc would have, "don't you think that the captain – Jean-Luc – who has been with you, every day, throughout this whole period of your illness, even to the point of sleeping with you every night when you were in sickbay – this man who has asked you to marry him – knows how you were abandoned by your father and is well aware of your fears? And how deep-seated they are? The man who came in here to talk to me – the man I discussed with Sandy McBride – _that_ man would leave Starfleet before he would leave you."

"I'm breathing," I said.

"I know."

"He won't leave me," I said. "Even though he's angry, and he's worried. And he's tired of me and all my problems."

"He is not your father," Lior told me. "And you only fear that he is tired of you. I didn't see a man who was tired of you. I saw a man who loved you."

"He says that to me, sometimes. That he's not my father."

"Because he isn't. He's a good man."

"Yes," I agreed. "He is, a good man."

"And so we come back to Haman and his sons," Lior said, "because I want to bring this point home to you. I want you to hear it, and I want you to think about it, and I want you, Will, at some point to believe it."

"Okay," I said, and I found I could unclench my hands.

"In one version of this story – and there are many, Will, more than what I gave to the class – Haman had thirty sons. The ten who joined him on his path of evil and destruction, that you read about, who were killed and hanged. The ten who died, in the plague that killed off all the other enemies of the Persian Jews. And the ten who lost everything and became beggars. So in this story, ten were evil, ten were bad but not evil, and ten were sinful, but not bad enough to die. Because, as you know, there are very few beings in the world that are completely evil. Most of us try to be good, and to do good, but because we are not perfect, we fall short of that goal. Those last ten sons were perhaps too invested in envy and greed, but there is no death penalty for those sins. Otherwise there would be very few of us left." He paused. "This story ends with a different ending, one that both Sandy McBride and I thought you should know. Your symptoms reoccurred, because you saw your own story in this one. You saw your father as Haman, and you as Haman's son. But if there were thirty sons, Will, and ten of those sons were men who had made mistakes but had not been evil, then they had turned away from the path of their father and had walked a different path. The _parasha_ that I read to you is about that. If your father is an evil man, but you choose not to follow his path, then you bear absolutely no responsibility for the crimes he chose to commit. You bear responsibility only for what you – as an adult, because none of these thirty sons was a child – have done yourself. You, and nobody else. So now we come to what you need to know."

I looked up at him. "I'm listening," I said.

"One of these sons of Haman, these ten sons who became beggars," Lior said, "he looked at his life and he realised what he was missing. He understood that his punishment had been just. But he thought there might be a way to serve his punishment but have his family not serve it with him. So he went to Mordechai – you remember Mordechai – and he said, 'Rabbi, I do not deserve this, but if I study, I would like to become a Jew.' And so one of the sons of Haman, Will, one of the sons of the Destroyer, saw that the gateway was open to him – even though he felt he had not been a good man, and he had been punished for not being a good man – converted to Judaism, and his family converted to Judaism, and this family went on, Will, to bring light into the world as Jews."

I didn't say anything; I let him continue to hold my hand.

"Do you understand what I am trying to tell you?"

I swallowed, and then took a breath. "That just because I am a son of Haman, it doesn't mean that I have chosen the path my father chose. I haven't chosen his path. And that even though there are things that I feel I have done that are wrong, they weren't evil – because I was a child – but I can still choose to walk a different path. I can be the son of Haman who became a Jew."

"Whether you choose to literally become a Jew, Will, by converting to Judaism, as that son of Haman's did, or whether you simply choose to follow a spiritual path that allows you to grow, and to do good in the world, is up to you. It is your choice, after all. But that path – that gateway – is open to you, Will. It's always been open, for you."

I could feel that I was crying again. "That is what Ambassador Spock said to me."

"Yes," Lior answered. "He is one of the _tzadikim_, the righteous. He can see the gateways. If he said it was open for you, then it is."

He was silent, still holding my hand. I wiped the tears from my face.

"Jean-Luc loves me," I said.

"Yes."

"I am free of my father," I said.

"Yes. Now you must love yourself, Will, and then you will be free to do the good in the world that you are here to do."

"I should go," I said. "Thank you."

"Tomorrow," Rabbi Cardozo said to me, "the children in our school are putting on a _Purimspiel_ – a play about Purim. I would very much like it, Will, if you and the captain would attend, and then come to Tzippi and me for the holiday meal, after."

"I would like to," I said. "I'll ask Jean-Luc. He's funny, around kids."

"I think," Lior replied, "that he will be pleased to come. The play is at sixteen hundred hours." He smiled. "My son Natan is playing Haman."

I looked at him, surprised, and he grinned.

"It's a coveted role," he said, laughing. "More drama."

I stood up, and together we walked out of his office.

"You are all right, now?" he asked. "You'll be okay, to be with your captain?"

"Yeah," I said. "I can handle it. I'll be okay."

"I will see you both tomorrow, then," he said.

I left his office, and when I got to the turbo lift I said, "Deck Nine," and then I said, "Full stop." I waited until the turbo lift stopped and I said, "Riker to Picard."

"Yes, Number One?"

"Can you meet me in the Arboretum? I have something I want to talk to you about."

"In the Arboretum?" he repeated.

"Yes, sir," I said. "By the pond."

"On my way, Mr Riker."

I said, "Acknowledged. Riker out." I took a breath and said, "Computer. Deck Seventeen."

8.

When I reached the Arboretum, I was pleased to see that there was no one there; not that I had expected anyone to be, this close after shift change and so close to dinner or breakfast, depending on which shift you were working. I walked down the path to the pond and sat on one of the benches. When I'd comm.'d Jean-Luc the second time he'd sounded a little calmer, so perhaps Lior had been correct in saying that he'd just been worried, having not heard from me. Well, I thought, that would have to change. We couldn't have a working relationship if he was going to be constantly worried about me, or at least I couldn't. And it certainly wasn't a good basis for a marriage, either – not that I knew anything at all about that.

And then I thought, that's not true. I do know about marriage – I had the perfect example of a working marriage right in front of my own nose, growing up. My great-aunt and uncle were still alive, even though they were both of them over one hundred; they'd been married since they'd been in their twenties; they'd had five children and I don't know how many grandchildren and great-grandchildren. I didn't remember my parents' marriage, which was probably a good thing, since my mother had fallen ill when I was only about a year old; but I had corresponded with Rosie's mother, who had been my mother's best friend from childhood, and she'd told me her account of my parents' marriage. It had been clear to her that my mother had loved my father – a thought I couldn't understand at all – but it had also been clear to her that there was something – she'd used the word "different" – about my father.

But the Shugaks – it still surprised me, even now, that I _still_ was unaware as to how much they'd influenced me, and how much they'd done to try to protect me. I didn't understand how they could not have known that I was being sexually abused – but then, neither did they. But they'd given up their claim to me to stay in my life. My father's response to the tribe's initial attempt to take over my care when I was a baby was to threaten to remove me from the planet. If the tribe wanted any contact with me, it would have to be on his terms – and so I'd spent my childhood thinking I was all alone in the world, when my aunt and uncle were the ones who took care of me every day my father was away, and when my playmates, for the most part, were my cousins, in one form or another. Even Rosie had been related to me, a few generations back.

I thought about Auntie Tasya and Uncle Marty, how different the two of them were, and yet they managed to work together as a united front. Marty was a storyteller and a dreamer; he had a great imagination – he was the one who'd given me the frost giants, which, in a way, had saved my life – and yet at the same time he had a position of great authority in the tribe and in the village, being the comptroller for most of his life. Auntie Tasya didn't have much of an imagination, it was true, but what she lacked in curiosity and imagination she made up for in her kindness, and her steadiness, and her common sense practicality. Together they seemed to make one person. I remember them arguing, sometimes, when Uncle Marty would forget something, but there was never any anger or bitterness that I was ever allowed to see. I only saw Uncle Marty's enormous respect for Auntie Tasya, and her steadfast devotion to him.

Jean-Luc and I were as different as Marty and Tasya were; we had completely different personalities, completely different backgrounds, and then there was the thirty-year age difference as well. Somehow, I thought, we would have to make it work, the way Marty and Tasya had; we both had, it seemed, expectations of each other that were not based on the reality of who we actually were. If I took anything at all, I thought, from this experience – if Lior had helped me with anything – it was what he had said to me about Jean-Luc.

I watched him walk down the path towards me, and, despite the emotional roller coaster of the past few days, I felt my face broaden into a smile. It was an automatic response, I supposed; I'd been grinning at him for years before it ever occurred to him why.

"Hello, Will," he said as he came up to me.

I'd known he'd be this way, a little tentative, because he'd been so angry with me this morning, and perhaps because he was still a little angry, but it didn't matter, because his shyness was just part of who he was; and so I stood up and wrapped my arms around him.

"Thank you," I said, "for agreeing to meet me here."

"Did you think I would say no?" he asked, looking up at me, his lip curling just a bit, the way it did when he was thinking about smiling.

"No," I answered. "I didn't think you'd say no, but I'm glad just the same." I let him go and said, "Do you want to sit on the bench, or can we sit over by the pond?"

He looked around. "Have you cleared the Arboretum?" he asked, and then he did smile.

"No," I said, grinning back at him, "there was already no one here."

"The grass isn't wet?"

I laughed. "I can't promise you that I know the timing of the sprinkler system, Jean-Luc. I don't think it's wet now."

"I'm sure they must run it when they simulate night," Jean-Luc replied, following me over to the pond. "My father always ran his irrigation system just before dawn."

We sat down on the grass, up against the flagstone wall, and I leaned into Jean-Luc, just resting against him.

"You seem better," he said, "calmer," and he pulled me into him.

"I am," I answered, "calmer. The jury is still out on better. I have a great deal to think about."

"Ah," he said. "Do you know the results of your diagnostic?"

I shrugged. "I was dehydrated," I said, "but we both already knew that. She did a brain scan, but she hadn't really gone over it when I left to see Deanna."

"And the appointment with Counsellor Troi and Mr da Costa?"

"We worked on my anxiety, and Joao did a session of ART with me."

"So it was the session with Rabbi Cardozo, then," Jean-Luc said.

"Yes," I answered. "It was the story of the holiday itself, and my interpretation of it, that was the trigger. But I'm not ready to talk about it, yet. He gave me a lot to think about. It's going to take a while, to absorb it all."

"And yet you asked me – here," Jean-Luc reminded me, "because you said you had something to tell me."

"Yes," I said. I sat up and looked at him. "I asked you – here – because this was the first place –" I stopped for a minute, to breathe, and to make sure that I would do this the right way. "This was the first place, Jean-Luc, where I realised – where I really understood – that you loved me. You'd said you loved me, you'd done everything in your power to show me that you loved me – but I didn't really believe it – I didn't really understand it – until you brought me here."

I could feel myself start to relax, because I could see the warmth spreading to his eyes, and then to his mouth, and I knew then that I could really do this – that Rabbi Cardozo was right. There was nothing wrong between us. There was only my childhood fear – which had nothing, absolutely nothing, to do with the man Jean-Luc was.

"And?" he asked gently.

"What you did that day, Jean-Luc," I said. "It was so kind. That word doesn't seem very powerful, I know, but it's the right word. The kindness that you showed me – taking me to get my hair cut, allowing me to be normal, to do something ordinary, just for a few minutes in the middle of my breaking into a million pieces – and then to bring me here, knowing how much it would mean to me, to allow me to feel as if I were outside, in the air, on the grass….It's the hardest thing, for me, always, on a ship – to be inside, all the time." I took a breath. "I understood that you knew me. That you'd known me all along. And that maybe you'd never shown me – because you were my captain – but that there was a part of you, I think, that loved me, long before you said you did."

He was quiet – which was one of the things I loved most about him. His ability to allow you to sort things through, to say what needed to be said, without interrupting, without anything other than great respect and kindness.

"I owe you an apology," I said. "And I thought here was the right place."

He reached out, then, and took my hand. "You don't owe me anything," he said.

"Yes, I do," I told him. "And it's not my 'I'm sorry for everything,' either," and I grinned at him.

"The apology that belongs with your ten words, you mean?" he said, and he grinned back.

"Yeah." I made sure that I could still feel my feet and my hands, that I was still breathing. "I apologise, Jean-Luc, for being selfish. Because I do know the kind of man you are. Because I do know that you're aware of my fears – and yet it was simply easier for me to give in to those fears than it was for me to acknowledge that you have never once given me cause to believe that those fears would come true. You had every right to be angry with me – and it's not because I didn't tell you I was triggered, Jean-Luc, because I still don't know when I am, half the time – but because I was acting like a child. The truth is that you are who you have always been. You've shown me that repeatedly – and I'm the one who's pushed you away, as an excuse, I guess, to not grow up." I waited, but he still accorded me the respect he always had. "I don't want to be like this anymore. There's no payoff, for me, to be like this. Jean-Luc, I have what I want – right in front of me. You have said to me, over and over again, that you are not my father. And you're right. You're not my father. My father's dead, and I don't have to listen to him and his lies anymore. I guess," I said, looking down at his hand still holding mine, "I'm apologising for not trusting you. For not believing you. For not accepting you. The question is," and I looked directly at him, "will you accept my apology? And will you allow me the opportunity to hit my reset button? Because I'm trying to grow up. It's a little late, I know – and I can't guarantee it won't still be hard. But I'm not running away anymore, and I'm not using my illness, anymore, as an excuse to push you away."

He didn't say anything for the longest time, and it was agony just waiting there, trying not to go into my default space, which was to be certain that he would reject me, and abandon me, and all the other crap that I told myself. He was being who he was, the kind, thoughtful, deliberate, considerate man he had always been. I had asked him something important. It wasn't in his nature to answer right away. I stretched my legs out a bit, making sure that I was still present, and still in my body, and I continued to breathe, and I listened to the water, trickling behind me.

"Rabbi Cardozo did all this, in one session?" he asked finally, and he was using that mild tone of voice he used when he spoke to me.

"I had to be ready to hear it, Jean-Luc," I said, "and I was."

"And what exactly are you asking me, William?" he said gently.

"I am asking you, Jean-Luc, if you will marry me."

"Ah," he replied. "I thought that's what you were asking me." He looked at me, and this time his eyes were dark and serious. "And we will do this together, Will? Is that what you mean, when you say you are ready to grow up?"

"We've always worked well together," I agreed.

He smiled. "Then my answer is yes," he said, and he pulled me into his arms.

9.

"What exactly," Jean-Luc asked me, "does one wear to a – what did you call it again?"

We'd taken an hour off of our shift, so that we could get ready to go the Lior's Purim party and holiday meal. I walked out of the shower, my towel still wrapped around me.

"You are getting the carpeting wet," he said, looking down at my bare feet.

I laughed. "Our new quarters doesn't have carpeting, Jean-Luc," I said, "so you won't have to fuss at me about it anymore." I dropped the towel and used it to dry my feet. "_Purimspiel_," I answered. "It's Yiddish, for Purim play. It's a tradition, that the children reenact the story of Purim, complete with costumes and noisemakers."

"Noisemakers?" he asked.

"It's not formal," I said. "Just civilian clothes, that's all." Then I said, "They're called _graggers_. You'll see."

"You," he said, eyeing me, "should really put your trousers on, or we will be more than fashionably late."

I grinned. "There will be plenty of alcohol tonight, Jean-Luc," I said, "so if that's the direction you're heading, you'll need to limit your intake."

"Are you impugning my honour, Mr Riker?" he said.

"No, sir," I replied. "Your honour has no complaints from me."

"I should certainly hope not," he said.

He dressed in his usual loose-fitting trousers and light-coloured tunic, and I added, "You know, Jean-Luc, you could stand to add a little colour to your wardrobe."

"First you impugn my honour," he complained, "and now you are saying my wardrobe is dull?"

"I know," I said, and I walked over to him and kissed him, "I'm a terrible person."

"I wouldn't go that far," he answered. "You are bloody cheeky, though."

I let him go, and put my shirt on. "We're partners," I retorted, "so I can't be cheeky anymore."

"William," he said, "you wrote the book on cheeky."

"Are you ready?" I asked.

"As I'll ever be," he answered. "I'm not sure why you felt the need to bring me to a children's party."

I sighed. "You like children, Jean-Luc," I said. "You just forget you like them."

He rolled his eyes and said, stepping into the turbo lift, "Deck Seven."

"Besides," I said, "we might want to have one. Or two."

He looked at me, speechless with horror, and I laughed. The turbo lift doors opened and we walked out, me still laughing, him shaking his head, and joined the small cluster of parents and children and congregants who were entering the rooms which served as the ship's religious space.

Lior met us at the door, Asaf in his arms, and handed us two _kippot_. I put mine on and clipped it to my hair and then grinned at Jean-Luc.

"If you say one word, William," he said in a low voice, and I said, "Captain, this is Asaf Cardozo. Asaf, can you say hello to Captain Picard?"

Asaf turned his head into his father's shoulder, and Lior shrugged. "It's the age, sir," he said. "My other children, as you will undoubtedly see, are not so shy."

"Hello, Asaf," Jean-Luc said kindly.

We took our seats, and I pointed out Tzippi as she disappeared behind the makeshift curtain. Two older children were walking around handing out _graggers_, and I took two and gave one to Jean-Luc.

"This," I said, "is a _gragger_. Every time someone says the name Haman, you turn it like this – " I demonstrated the effect for him "—and you drown out the name."

"I see." He turned his experimentally. "Every time I hear the name Haman."

"Every time," I assured him.

"And since he is the chief villain," Jean-Luc said, "his name will be said often."

"Lots," I confirmed. "Lots and lots."

He said something in French under his breath.

"There are children here," I reminded him.

"And not one of them will speak French," he replied.

"You would be surprised," I said.

The lights dimmed and the crowd of parents and children quieted. Rabbi Cardozo had somehow managed to find someone else to hold Asaf, and he came out in front.

"_Shalom_," he said, "and welcome to the first annual _Purimspiel_ on board the _Enterprise_. Our children and their teachers have worked very hard, to present this to us. They have written the play themselves, and made the sets and the costumes, and are also responsible for the music. Perhaps," he said, looking at me, "Commander Riker will be finding new recruits for his jazz band." He waited, so that everyone could look at us, and laugh dutifully, and watch Captain Picard squirm in his seat with embarrassment. He grinned at me, and then began, "Once, in the far away land of Persia, there was a mighty king, who had a wife named Vashti…."

I watched with growing delight as various and assorted children stumbled through their lines, fell down, sang silly songs, and otherwise performed this at times beautiful and terrifying story; Natan, with his beard that sort of looked like mine and kept hanging to one side; the little girl who played Esther, whose voice rose and fell depending on whether she'd remembered her lines; the other kids in the crowd who yelled to behead Vashti, and then twenty minutes later, to hang Haman, who died with a great deal of drama.

I felt Jean-Luc take my hand, and he said to me, "Will? Are you all right? Do you need to leave?"

Because I could feel the tears running down my face. I'd been that age, once. I'd been that small, that fragile, that silly – how could I have ever stopped the evil that was Haman? How could I have ever thought that I could? How could I have blamed myself for everything that had happened – for what my father had done to me, for what he had done to Rosie, and to my kitten, and to all the other children that he'd harmed? I could no more have stopped him than stopped a shuttle from landing, or an asteroid from falling. And it all made sense to me – what Dr McBride had tried to get me to understand, what Rabbi Cardozo had tried to get me to see, what Jean-Luc had told me, over and over and over again. I'd been a child. I'd been one of these little people, and I'd done the best that I could to face the monster every single day so I could live to see another day.

I didn't have to bear the burden anymore, because it had never been mine to begin with. And the words of Rabbi Cardozo came back to me, the ones about Haman's sons: "Those sons – those specific ten sons that the story mentions – are punished for what they did. For what they _did_. In Judaism, the emphasis is always on the action." Because ultimately my father had been punished for what he did. For his actions – his _actions_ – and I understood – my illness was not the punishment for the silence of a small child.

The play was over, and we stood up, and I wiped my face, and when it was my turn to say something to Rabbi Cardozo I said, "I understand why the children celebrate this holiday, Rabbi."

"Do you, Will?" he asked.

"Yes," I said. I could feel Jean-Luc's hand resting on my shoulder. "It's because they're learning, aren't they, to be brave, to be righteous, to stand up to the evil that they might face in their own time – to recognise it and to deal with it – and to chose the path and the gateway they are meant to choose. And that's –" I tried to find the words, "that's an occasion for joy, isn't it? To see the next generation choosing to be Mordechai and Esther."

"It is, Will," Rabbi Cardozo said to me, "an occasion for great joy. Not just for them, but for you, too."

"Thank you," I said, "for everything."

I turned around, to look for Jean-Luc, and saw that he was surrounded by children.

"You will be okay now, do you think?" Lior asked me.

"Yes," I said, and I could feel that I was breathing, "I will be okay."


End file.
